Earthly Happenings
by Lear's Daughter
Summary: HP Battlestar Galactica crossover, spoilers through Maelstrom and HP book 5. Kara Starbuck Thrace never thought she'd end up on Earth. She especially didn't expect to find herself in an enchanted castle.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This fic is in honor of a wonderful friend, who asked me to write it. Please review!

My Harry Potter world is AU after the fifth book, and will be unveiled in due course.

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Battelstar Galactica or Harry Potter.

* * *

There were a lot of places Kara "Starbuck" Thrace thought she might end up after her viper exploded. Heaven, perhaps. Hades, more likely. She could quite easily envision herself condemned to a place where she would be forced to fill out paperwork for the rest of time, or to endure that godsawful physical therapy on her knee. 

To be honest, she'd even half-thought she might end up on Earth. After all, Leoben loved to harp on about her destiny, and after her little jaunt to Caprica to get the Arrow of Apollo she figured that destiny might have something to do with Earth—though of course if she ever heard anyone accusing her of having a destiny she'd deny it long and loud, despite what she might have actually thought in the privacy of her own mind. So if she'd blown up and then found herself the Colonies' representative on Earth, well, she wouldn't have been too phased by it.

But she had never expected to find herself in a castle.

She let out a little _oomph_ as she fell several feet to land on her rear, confused as hell by the solid stone beneath her gloved hands and the slick stone ceiling above her head. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the twinge in her bad knee, and checked the atmosphere using the device on her sleeve before removing her helmet.

"Wow." She stared in wonder around herself. She was standing just within a large set of double doors, inside what appeared to be an entrance hall, and several corridors led away from her position. The ceilings were high and the walls spread far apart, and she felt a strange discomfort at being in such a large open space after living inside the Galactica for so long. It was an unpleasant reminder of what it had been like to live on New Caprica, in a way. She pulled off her gloves, running her hand over the walls, marveling at the rough texture. She directed her eyes upwards. "I don't know what you're up to, gods. I just hope you know what you're doing."

Resolving not to waste any time figuring out where the frak she was, she picked a corridor that seemed as likely as any and marched determinedly toward it, leaving her helmet, gloves, and flightsuit bundled safely in a dark nook. The halls were ominously quiet, and even her careful steps echoed as she slipped through the corridors. She wandered for what felt like hours, getting more and more confused as she went, almost certain at times that she saw motion out of the corner of her eyes, at others sure that she was seeing the same portraits over and over again even thought that was impossible. She was busy staring at one particularly suspicious-looking suit of armor when she walked straight into a solid mass.

She let out a curse as she stumbled backward, barely avoiding an ungraceful fall as her strong balance kept her on her feet. Falling back on her old defense mechanism, she glared at the man she had just run into.

He was of average height, about as tall as Lee—and there were other similarities, as well. He had the same traditionally handsome, chiseled face and short black hair, although this man's looked almost windswept. But where Lee had eyes like the ocean, this man's were a piercing emerald. And where Lee always looked at her with either anger or friendly affection, this man was watching her as if she were a cylon centurion--with suspicion and not a little surprise. He was also wearing a thick black robe.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curled faintly in amusement though his eyes were still hard. He spoke—and his accent was strangely similar to Gaius Baltar's—but she didn't understand a word he said. He switched languages a couple of times, watching her closely for some sign of comprehension, but she continued to stare at him blankly. At last, he sighed, glancing at the battered watch he wore on his left wrist, then used the universal gesture for "come with me," waiting only a second before heading purposefully down a corridor.

She thought about refusing out of spite. Then she reconsidered, thinking that if she could do worse than to try to make friends in this strange place. Fortunately, the man wasn't walking too quickly and she caught up easily, refusing to look at him as she fell in with his stride. They backtracked down several corridors she had already walked before, then through some she was sure she hadn't been in—but she was sure, absolutely sure, she had seen that portrait of the fat man with a horse before—and stopped before a gargoyle. Her escort said something to it, and to her shock, it moved, revealing a moving, winding staircase. They stepped on, and rode it to the top.

Starbuck decided that at some point she had entered the realm of unreality, and she just couldn't be bothered to be shocked by all of the strange things in this world. Even if she was standing on stone that was moving, apparently of its own accord. She glanced at her guide and saw that he was still watching her closely. She gave him her best sneer, then glanced away when he just looked amused by her reaction.

They arrived at a thick wooden door, and the man knocked politely, then let them in. She found herself in a cozy office, with a crackling fireplace, little knickknacks, portraits, a desk, a very old man, and a bright red bird. She blinked.

Her guide and the old man exchanged words, glancing at her every once in a while as she ignored them, and finally seemed to come to an agreement. Before she could do anything, the younger one pulled a long wooden stick from one of his sleeves, pointed it at her, and said something. Her world went black.

She swam out of unconsciousness in much the same way she had entered it—jarringly. She groaned as she opened her eyes, her head pounding as she directed her most evil glare at the two men standing unconcernedly before her.

"What the frak did you just do?" Starbuck demanded, surging out of the chair and looking for a weapon.

"My most humble apologies, my dear," the old man said, stopping her in her tracks. She turned slowly to face him, caught by his twinkling blue eyes. "It was not our intention to harm you, merely to allow us to communicate."

"A simple language spell," the other man added, his voice soothing and pleasant to the ears. He smiled at her, that earnest little-boy smile that had so attracted her to Zak and then Lee and then Anders. "There shouldn't be any lasting damage, and the headache should go away soon."

"Where am I?" she growled, taking advantage of her newfound ability to communicate to ask the questions she had been wondering since her arrival.

The two men exchanged another glance.

"This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, my dear," the old one said with a benevolent smile.

"Huh?"

"It's a school that teaches magic," the other put in.

"Magic?" she repeated incredulously. "Magic doesn't exist."

At that, the handsome man smiled, taking his stick out again and gesturing. Starbuck did not yelp—quite—when the table suddenly transformed into a pig. She stared at it, wide-eyed, until he changed it back.

"I assure you, magic does exist," the old one said. He smiled again. "As Harry just showed you. But now, my dear, if I may ask—who are you? It is not often that we receive visitors at Hogwarts unannounced."

_Don't tell them your name_. "Starbuck," she said evenly.

"Starbuck?" Harry repeated, looking amused once again as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You got a problem with that?" she bristled.

"And I am Albus Dumbledore," the old man intervened. "Headmaster of this school. May I ask how you came to be here?"

_Well, you see, I was flying along in my viper when I decided to commit suicide, abandoning the people who care about me and leaving the fleet short one viper and its best pilot._ "I don't remember."

They looked unconvinced, but didn't push the issue.

"Well, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish," Dumbledore said. "We are happy to accommodate you in a guest suite until you 'remember' what happened, or desire to go elsewhere."

She blinked. Well, that was quick. "Thanks."

Dumbledore nodded, still watching her with those annoying twinkling eyes. "Harry will see to it that you're settled in."

Harry looked unsurprised to have this responsibility thrust upon him, and merely nodded at the older man's words.

"Right. Well, good night?" If there was one thing Starbuck hated, it was feeling out of her depth, or uncomfortable. Usually she just got out of such situations by proving that she had more balls than anyone else in the room--but that didn't seem like the best tactic to take here.

"Good night," Dumbledore replied.

"Professor." Harry nodded perfunctorily at the old man, then led the way out of the room to the moving staircase, which had somehow begun to move in the opposite direction now. _Oh, right, I almost forgot. It's _magic.

"So, this is a school," she remarked for lack of something better to say as they moved through the halls.

He shot her a sidelong glance. "Yes," he affirmed. "The students are all asleep right now—or at least, they should be, since it's past curfew. They'll be bustling about tomorrow morning, though."

"And you're—a teacher?"

"Yes."

"Of magic."

"I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said. At her curious expression, he explained, "Magic can be used to help people and to hurt them. I teach the students to defend themselves against the magic intended to hurt."

That was…pretty attractive, actually. It reminded her a bit of her own work with her nuggets, and she wondered if he taught his classes in a similar way. She couldn't picture Harry demanding that his students call him God.

"What about you?" he asked. "What do you do?"

"I fly," she said simply. He stopped, a spark suddenly forming in those stunning green eyes of his. "Fighter planes."

"You fly?" he repeated. "I've never flown a plane. I would love to try."

She swept her eyes slowly over his slender body, assessing. "You'd be good at it," she told him honestly. "You've got a good build." She watched in amusement as a faint blush worked its way up his cheeks.

"Er…thanks," he said. "I think." He cleared his throat, then started walking again. "Anyway, we teach a number of different subjects here: Defense, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and loads others. You met Dumbledore, he's the Headmaster. Then there's my friend Hermione Granger, who teaches Transfiguration and Neville Longbottom, who teaches Herbology. Just steer clear of the Potions teacher, Professor—" he cut off when they turned a corner and abruptly found themselves face-to-face with a thin, sallow-faced man with a hooked nose and an unpleasant expression. "—Snape," Harry finished lamely. "Hello, Severus."

"Potter," Snape sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like a giant bat in his black robes. He transferred his sneer to Starbuck, who sneered back, unimpressed. "And what's this?"

"A new guest," Harry said, his voice carefully neutral. "Starbuck, this is Severus Snape. Severus, Starbuck."

"Another member of your endless fan club, Potter?" Okay, she didn't like this Snape guy.

"A visitor," Harry said again, and Starbuck realized that the evenness in his voice was not because he was unemotional—it was because he was trying very hard not to attack Snape.

Snape eyed her critically. "Is that—a _muggle_?"

Starbuck bristled. She didn't know what a muggle was, but the way he said it was an insult.

"That's none of your business, Severus," Harry replied. "Now, if you'll excuse us."

"You didn't answer my question, Potter," Snape spat in a low voice, fingering his stick-thing, which he had been holding the whole time. He stepped in front of them, refusing to allow them to pass.

"Move," Harry said quietly. "I won't tell you again."

Starbuck watched the interchange with interest. Harry was protecting her, it was clear, which was both irritating and a little bit cute. Despite the younger man's warning, Snape looked like he was about to say something scathing, so Starbuck did what she often did when people irritated her.

As they stared down at the unconscious man and his broken nose, Starbuck felt that this was the real moment in which she could test Harry's character. Either he would insist that they help the man and censor her for punching him, or he would…

"I think we should go," Harry said, his voice carefully flat although his eyes were alight with mischief.

"Can I hit him again?" Starbuck asked hopefully, equally mischievous.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then shook his head regretfully. "Best not to," he said. "Don't want him to poison our pumpkin juice come morning."

She didn't know what pumpkin juice was, and shot one last longing glance at the prone man as they hurried away. They made it through several long corridors and up a couple of flights of stairs before neither could quite contain themselves any more. She wasn't sure who started it, but suddenly they were both laughing, sinking to the floor in shared amusement at what had just happened. Starbuck was shocked to feel this free and easy, after everything that had happened to her in the past few weeks—the past few years, really. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this at peace.

She watched Harry as she laughed, and thought what a change of pace he was, as well. He reminded her of Zak, and of Lee before Zak died, and of Anders before New Caprica happened. He reminded her of what it was like to be happy, and it was because of that strange feeling that she didn't give herself time to second-guess, but leaned forward and kissed him solidly on the lips.

The first time she kissed Zak, he started it, and she had been the one to pull away, shocked by her own feelings. The first time she kissed Lee, they had both been drunk and she had punched him as if he were to blame for what she did. The first time she kissed Anders, he responded passionately and they fell into his bed almost immediately.

She knew in the first instant of kissing Harry for the first time that it had been a mistake. Harry stiffened, his laughter suddenly chased away, and didn't reciprocate. She pulled away quickly. _Always have to frak things up, don't you, Thrace?_

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Don't apologize," he said roughly. "I was just surprised." Perhaps, but she could feel how he'd withdrawn, emotionally if not physically.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds before Harry pushed himself to his feet. "Let me show you to your room," he said, offering her a hand up. She ignored it and stood on her own. Never let it be said that Starbuck needed help of any kind.

"That'd be nice," she said.

They walked in silence until they reached a door with a portrait of a frog on it. The frog watched them with interest.

"The portraits here are enchanted," Harry explained. "They can talk and move as if they were alive. It's nice for protecting your rooms, because you speak your password to the portrait and it lets you in."

She nodded, but made no move to tell the frog her password with Harry standing there. He ran his hand through his hair, clearly a nervous gesture. "Well, I'll leave you to getting settled in," he said. "If you need anything, tell the frog, and it'll have someone fetch me. Otherwise, I'll come get you in the morning and you can have breakfast in the Great Hall, if you'd like."

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Okay."

"Goodnight," he said, scuffing his feet on the floor like a little boy before turning to walk away.

"Goodnight," she called after him. He paused but did not stop or turn around. She waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to the frog portrait. "Just tell it the password," she muttered to herself. She considered. "Well, why not?" It wasn't like anyone here would know anything about her, after all. "My password is Adama," she told the frog, which ribbuted at her and then allowed the door to swing open. Adama. One word, three men she cared about. It made for a certain efficiency in her life, at least.

The rooms she found herself in were fairly luxurious, especially after living in cramped quarters on the Galactica. She had a living room, a bedroom, and a large bathroom. She thought of treating herself to a bath, but then realized that she was bone tired. It wouldn't do for her to fall asleep in the bathtub and drown—a rather ignominious death for a viper pilot. She pulled off her clothes, then collapsed on the featherbed, sighing as she sank into the thick comforter on top of the bed.

She just had time to breathe a quick prayer—"Lords of Kobol, please protect Lee and William Adama, and Sam Anders--and if you get a chance, don't forget about me, either"—before she fell into a deep, blissful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Starbuck slept that night perhaps as well as she had slept since the worlds ended—or even since before Zak died. She didn't know whether it was the comfortable bed, the bizarreness of her surroundings which left little room to think about her own problems, or the resolution she had made moments before her viper exploded which let her sleep so peacefully. Whatever it was, she was grateful—she slept like a rock from the moment her eyes closed to the moment a quiet knock sounded on her door.

She sat up. The knock repeated. She looked around her surroundings. They were the same as the night before, and yet something was different. She was sure of it. Her eyes narrowed as she zeroed in on her uniform. Last night, it had been sweaty, and she had dropped it carelessly on the floor. Now, it looked clean—cleaner than the Galactica's overused laundry facilities had ever managed—and was neatly folded on the couch.

A growl escaped her as she climbed off of the incredibly soft bed, stalking to the couch and pulling on the clothes. She ran a hand through her short hair, the Starbuck equivalent of grooming, then went to the door and yanked it open.

Harry was standing there, looking fresh and cheerful and entirely too attractive for comfort. She glowered.

"What the frak happened to my clothes?" she demanded. "You told me no one would be able to get in my room!"

He blinked, confused for a moment, before comprehension filled his expression. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It was very late last night, and I forgot to tell you about the house elves."

"Forgot to tell me about _what_?"

"House elves," he said simply. "They're a bit of a shock to people unfamiliar with the wizarding world—trust me, I know—but you get used to them surprisingly quickly. They're kind of, well, little funny-looking people whose job it is to see that everything keeps working in smooth order here. If you see one of them it probably isn't doing its job, but they're the ones who do all of the cooking and cleaning." He seemed almost apprehensive as he spoke.

She nodded, feeling her anger evaporate as quickly as it came. He did look very repentant, after all. "Like the deck crew," she said. "Efficient, good at their jobs, and highly underappreciated."

"Exactly." His quick agreement did not disguise his own confusion at her words. "Now, if you're hungry, I'll escort you to the Great Hall, where breakfast is served."

"Starving," she told him, following as he led the way back through winding corridors. If she was going to stay here she was going to have to learn how to navigate herself, but for now she was content to let him escort her.

"What is a muggle?" Starbuck asked as they walked, remembering to the previous evening, watching Harry's expression to see whether she was saying a derogatory term.

"A muggle is someone who can't do magic," Harry replied calmly. "Some people, some factions of our society, look down on them—but the term in itself isn't meant to be offensive."

"You mean—not everyone here can do magic?"

Harry looked surprised. "Of course not. Most people on the planet can't. We're a very small community, really." He shot her a considering look.

She nodded. "Am I a muggle?"

"I'm not sure," he said thoughtfully. "We'll have to do some tests to find out."

They heard the Great Hall long before they saw it. Children were laughing and talking and the clang of cutlery against plates was easily audible. The doors were open, and she and Harry walked right in, passing several long tables full of children to go to a table at the head of the hall, where it appeared all the teachers sat.

"Good morning, my dear," Dumbledore said genially.

"Good morning," she echoed.

"Harry," the old man said with a nod at her escort.

"Headmaster," Harry replied formally.

Snape was also at the table, sporting a lovely pair of black eyes, and the look he shot them promised pain. She smirked back , confident she could take anything he could dole out. Harry led her further down the table, introducing her to the teachers—some of whom, such as Hagrid and Flitwick, were very strange looking—before reaching the end of the table.

"And here are two of my best friends," he said proudly, "Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom."

Hermione smiled at her in a friendly manner before sticking out her hand. Starbuck shook, assessing the other woman as she did so. She was as different from Starbuck as night from day, with well-groomed hair and a professional demeanor--rather like President Roslin. Starbuck wondered just how good friends she and Harry were, and was irritated with herself when she felt a brief pang of jealousy.

Neville was another young man about the same age as Hermione and Harry, and he stuttered nervously as he greeted her with a limp handshake.

Introductions out of the way, Harry sat at the seat at the end of the table, then gestured for her to sit between him and Hermione.

"Why do you three sit all the way down here?" Starbuck asked, noticing the clear divide between these three and the rest of the teachers. "The others don't want to sit with you?"

"Not at all," Harry said easily, spooning a pile of eggs onto his plate and watching as she cautiously did the same. "We're the youngest three teachers, and went to school together, and we like to use meal times to chat. We leave it up to the other teachers to look strict and watch for misbehavior."

"So, Starbuck," Hermione said. "That's an interesting name."

Tigh had thought so, too, once; she had punched him for mentioning it.

"Yeah." Starbuck's tone did not encourage further discussion of the matter.

"I have a class to teach this morning," Harry broke in, sensing her discomfort. "Afterwards, I'd like to talk with you about your situation, Starbuck, see if there's anything I can do to help."

"Okay," she replied, feeling the awkwardness of the situation.

"I can keep you company until then," Hermione offered kindly, but Starbuck couldn't quite keep herself from stiffening at the offer. What was the likelihood that the woman was really just trying to be nice, after all?

"Actually, I'd like to watch Harry's class, if that's all right," she said. _See more magic_, she thought but didn't say.

Hermione seemed to understand her thoughts, because she nodded knowingly. "Magic's really amazing, isn't it?"

"Hermione's from a muggle family," Harry confided, "so she can understand what it's like to suddenly discover that magic's real."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, with an air as if she said those two words in that particular tone rather a lot. "You're from a muggle family as well."

His brow furrowed. "So?"

Hermione shook her head, meeting Starbuck's eyes as she did so. "He's a very intelligent man, really, but he is still a _man_, so you have to forgive him for being rather obtuse."

"Huh?" Harry was still looking very confused.

Hermione shot Starbuck a look that was so exasperated that the viper pilot couldn't keep herself from snickering.

"Oh, that's right," Harry said with a long-suffering expression on his face. "Laugh at the man because he doesn't get it. Go on, don't stop on my account."

Hermione let out a laugh herself, reaching around Starbuck to place a comforting hand on Harry's arm. "You know I love you, Harry," she said with a smile. "You're just so easy to wind up."

Harry lifted his chin in the air, staring disdainfully down at her. "I think you must have me confused with someone else, madam," he intoned. "Your husband, perhaps."

Hermione laughed again, leaving Starbuck feeling a bit out of place. "Your Malfoy impression is terrible!" the other woman exclaimed.

"N-not enough grease in your hair," Neville added shyly, a devious grin on his face as he entered the conversation for the first time.

"I take it Malfoy is someone you don't like?" Starbuck interjected, frustrated with feeling out of the loop.

The three exchanged an unreadable glance, their expressions changing abruptly at her words. Neville looked triumphant, Hermione looked disgusted, and Harry…for the first time, Harry's expression was entirely closed off to her.

"Malfoy was an enemy of ours in school," Hermione explained at last, when it was clear that Harry wasn't going to respond. "He's in prison now. For life."

"What for?"

They exchanged another glance, and this time it was Harry who responded. "Conspiracy, and mass murder."

They talked more after that, but only about insignificant details, and shortly Harry stood and left, Starbuck following his lead. But as they walked, she thought back to the conversation they had just had, and the fact that Harry had eaten almost none of the food he had scooped onto his plate.

These were the first signs that something was not quite as happy and nice at Hogwarts as it might have appeared, and they put the Colonial officer on her guard.

* * *

"Who can tell me," Harry began the class, sweeping his green gaze across his students, his voice carrying a kind of quiet authority, "what a boggart is?"

Starbuck certainly couldn't. She was sitting at the back of the room, hoping to be mostly inconspicuous, but the students had all instinctively focused in on her as they entered the room, staring as if they had never seen anyone quite like her. Her two tank top, casual pants ensemble might have been the reason. It was only the stern voice of their teacher that had focused their attention on the front of the classroom, but she was keenly aware that the students, though not looking at her, were at least wondering at her presence.

Starbuck watched the class with a certain fascination. It had been a long time since she had been in school, but she was certain she had never been in a class this interesting or taught this well. Harry had a mild but stern manner which kept the students well in line and eager to participate. They talked theory for a little while, and she learned that a boggart was a creature that somehow changed itself to reflect a person's worst fears; and then Harry did something surprising.

"We've practiced the riddikulus spell," he said quietly, watching his students intensely. "You're ready to try it against the real thing, I think." With a sweep of his hand he revealed a large cabinet which had, apparently, been sitting in the front of the classroom the whole class, invisible. It rocked a little of its own accord, as if something inside was pushing to get out. "You'll face it one at a time. Remember to think of something amusing!"

The students hurriedly formed themselves into a haphazard line, and Harry opened the cupboard.

Starbuck was amused by some of the children's fears. They were only thirteen years old or so, so she supposed it figured that their worst nightmares were so silly, but honestly…werewolves? Hags? Worms? They seemed such silly things to be afraid of. Of course, she had always been made of sterner stuff than most children.

The class went well, and by the time it was over the students left with a general feeling of accomplishment, clapping each other on the back as they filed out. Starbuck went to the front of the classroom, where the wardrobe was set up and waiting for the next class.

"What do you think?" Harry asked with a sidelong glance, a smile twitching on his lips at her fascinated expression.

She shrugged. "Interesting." She ran her hand over the cabinet, feeling it jump beneath her fingers. She paused. "Can I try?"

"You want to use my wand?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

His words made her want to send him a dirty smile, but remembering his reaction to her kiss the previous night she restrained herself. "Why not?"

"Well, it probably won't work very well for you, even if you are magical," he said reluctantly. "If you want to try, though…"

She plucked the wand from his fingers and strode in front of the cabinet, tapping the piece of wood against her leg impatiently. What would her greatest fear be? Not death, that was for sure. Not pain. Maybe…

The cabinet flung open, and she let out a little gasp as Adama stalked out. His face was cold, the way it looked when he was so angry he wanted to kill someone. "So you did it again," he whispered. "You let us all down, and now we're doomed. Are you proud of yourself, Kara? You stole one son from me—now you're going to steal the entire fleet?"

"I—I—" she stuttered. _It's not real_, she told herself. _It's _not "R-riddikulus." Nothing happened.

Next came Lee, his eyes burning a hole in her soul. "Gods, Kara," he sighed, "I trusted you. I put my faith in you, and what did you do? I know you said you were a screw up, but I never thought it could be true. I guess I was wrong."

"R-riddikulus." The Lee-boggart flickered but remained. The next figure that approached was Colonel Tigh, and she was just trying to imagine him wearing a feather dress when Harry stepped in front of her.

Tigh abruptly changed, to a tall, looming, thin man with serpentine eyes and slits for a nose and a sinister grin. "You fool, Potter," he hissed, holding up his wand with his long, thin fingers. "You thought that I was gone—but I will never be gone. You can't get rid of me, boy. You let everyone down. Just like you always do."

Starbuck shot a glance at Harry, who was pale but firm as he stood before the specter. "You don't frighten me," he said quietly. "Riddikulus." The boggart stumbled as it lengthened, becoming an enormous snake with a knot tied in its middle. He banished the creature into the cabinet, locking it firmly and leaning against the solid wood. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and she braced herself for an awkward conversation. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess that answers the question about you having magic."

"What?" she blurted.

"You managed to use my wand—just a little, but you definitely used it. So you're not just a muggle."

"You're not going to ask me about what just happened?" she asked, feeling almost put out by his lack of interest.

"Do you want me to ask?" he inquired mildly.

"Well…no." Starbuck hated to talk about her own feelings, after all.

"That's why I didn't," he told her. "I don't much like talking about my boggart, either." Seeing her silent acquiescence, he moved on. "Now, we'll need to take you to Ollivander's in Diagon Alley—it's the only place to get a good wand—assuming you want to learn some magic, that is—and then get you some other supplies. Although," he blushed endearingly, "I haven't even asked what your long-term plans are. You might not want to stay here."

She hesitated. A part of her, a large part, wanted to trust him, to tell him everything. The larger part of her was still reeling from the boggart's accusations, and urged caution. "I don't…have any immediate plans to return where I came from," she said slowly. "I'd like to learn some magic, if I can."

He nodded, and the smile he sent her made her knees weak.

* * *

Diagon Alley was about what Starbuck had imagined, given the rest of what she had seen of the wizarding world. It was a bustling, crowded market, with storefronts boasting bizarre goods and people in ridiculous outfits hurrying to and fro. Harry was wearing an even more voluminous robe than she was getting used to seeing him in, and he had pulled a silly hat firmly onto his head, throwing his face into shadow. He had also apparently left his glasses at Hogwarts, and kept a light hand on Starbuck's arm as if to keep himself from running into anything. She was rather confused by his behavior, but didn't ask. He had respected her privacy so far, after all

"So what first?" she asked.

Without his glasses his eyes positively sparkled. "Now," he said, "we get you a wand."

Ollivander's Wands was a dusty little store with a dingy little entrance area and a decidedly creepy owner. Ollivander swooped out from behind a shelf upon their entrance, his expression eerily attentive as he swept his gaze over them.

"Mr. Potter," he greeted cadaverously. "A pleasure to see you again." With a resigned sigh, Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve and handed it to the old man, who shuddered a little as he took it. "You've kept this in good condition," he said, caressing it possessively. "Holly and phoenix feather. Unique, now. Too bad about what happened to its brother, really…"

Harry's face was strangely cold as he stepped forward and snatched the wand back. "_That_," he said harshly, "is a matter of opinion. I am not here to talk about my wand, Mr. Ollivander, but to get a wand for this young woman."

The man's gaze moved from the uncomfortable wizard to the equally uncomfortable viper pilot.

Her spine straightened instinctively at his appraisal and she glared at him.

"Interesting," Ollivander whispered. She shivered, and he looked away.

It turned out that choosing a wand—or, as Ollivander said, having the wand choose the wizard—was more tedious than it sounded. The old wizard handed her wand after wand to wave about, and though she followed his instructions vigorously the wands didn't react at all. She was beginning to suspect that she didn't have any magical ability after all, but a glance at Harry showed that he was unconcerned. He leaned against the wall and watched them, managing to look calm and serious despite his outrageous outfit.

At last, just when she was about to give up hope, a wand she waved sent off a series of sparks. They weren't very large, or very bright, and were a reddish-silver color, but they were there. She stared, wide-eyed, at the piece of wood in her hand.

Ollivander nodded, his pleased expression reminding her of his delight over the past hour of wand-waving. He, at least, had enjoyed the experience. " Willow and dragon scale," he said. "A durable wand, made to last. Not very powerful, but trustworthy in a pinch."

Harry thanked the man for her and paid him, something she felt uncomfortable about but could hardly avoid given her lack of "galleons," and led the way back out of the shop. He let out a relieved breath and ran his hand through his short hair, a wry smile on his face. "Ollivander's the best there is, but I've never been comfortable with him," he confided.

"I can see why," she replied.

They walked through the alley, dodging busy customers, until they reached a small shop. "You'll go in and get robes," Harry explained. "I'll be back to get you in a little while; just don't go anywhere without me—and whatever happens, don't go in Knockturn Alley."

Being measured for robes went much faster than she had expected, probably because she had refused to allow the woman near her and insisted that clothes that mostly fit were fine. For lack of a better option, she told the seamstress to charge the robes to Harry Potter—and hadn't the woman's expression been shocked at that?—and then hurried out, uncomfortable with having had someone so much in her personal space.

She should have just waited outside the store for Harry. Logically, she knew that. He had even asked her to wait. But there was something about her character that just didn't let her follow orders, even from someone she respected, and it was for that reason that she found herself wandering through the alley, blending in in robes as she had not in her uniform, until she reached a rather dark path that stretched away from it.

Every instinct she had told her this place was dangerous, somewhere to be avoided.

Intrigued, she went in.

This place was much darker and less pleasant than Diagon Alley had been, and reminded her of some of the more dangerous places she had frequented on Picon and Caprica. Sinister characters huddled in corners or ducked out of sight as she passed, and strange and alarming items, most of which she didn't recognize, hung in shop windows. She only walked a few yards through the alley before deciding she should probably leave, and that was when she turned around and bumped straight into Severus Snape.

"You," he hissed with a sneer when he saw her, pulling his wand out in a flash. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you," she said coolly. She had never been intimidated by bullies, not when she was a little girl, and certainly not now. Even if Snape did have a magic wand. Well, she had a wand, too, even if she didn't know how to use it. She pulled the wand from her sleeve and held it surreptitiously behind her back. "I highly doubt Hogwarts teachers are supposed to be in shady places like this."

An unpleasant smile creased his lips. "Perhaps not," he conceded. "But I am not just a Hogwarts teacher. And I do believe I owe you for last night." He raised his wand, a curse obviously on his lips, but she pulled hers first, shouting the first thing that came to mind. Startled, he still managed to easily dodge the weak stunning spell—she had seen the students practicing in Harry's class earlier that day—and with a growl he returned a spell of his own. She threw herself out of the way, narrowly keeping it from hitting her. Then, before he could react, she threw herself into a forward summersault, surging to her feet directly in front of him and belting him across the face once again. He went down like a log, but not before managing to send off another spell—silently, apparently.

She reeled back, clutching her stomach and gagging at the pain. She had felt worse, much worse, but this pain was bad. Very bad. And she didn't know how to stop it. She clenched her teeth, determined not to let out any sound of pain, and rode it out.

"_Finite incantem_." The words were spoken as a whisper that belied how angry the speaker was. The pain vanished instantly as if it had never been, although she trembled for a moment from the shock of its removal. "Are you alright?" Harry's voice was a welcome relief as he gripped her arm in his strong hand, supporting her. She shrugged him off, angry at her own weakness.

"I'm fine," she said, staring at Snape, who was just now pushing himself to his feet.

Harry's eyes followed her line of sight, and his gaze was furious as he stalked toward the other wizard. "You've gone too far, Snape," he snarled, his wand clenched tightly in his white-knuckled fist. "I've protected you in the Ministry, I've protected you at Hogwarts. I won't protect you any more. One more step out of line—if it even _looks_ like you're going to use a pain curse on another wizard in anything but dire need, I'll see you locked up. Do you understand me?"

Snape somehow managed to sneer at the other wizard even as he used his hand to stem the bloodflow from his broken nose. "You won'd do anyding do me, Podder," he said carefully, his onyx eyes disdainful. "You wouldn'd send anyone to Azkaban, if you could help id."

"Perhaps not," Harry allowed. "But I am the Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts, if you'll recall, and have a responsibility to keep the school safe from dangerous elements—and even Dumbledore wouldn't allow you to remain if I told him what you've done. I _can_ and _will_ make sure you lose your job. Now, _do you understand_?"

Snape's expression was full of loathing. "I undersdand," he replied, whirling around to stalk in another direction.

"Do you really think that'll help?" Starbuck asked doubtfully.

Harry ground his teeth. "Probably not. Snape…Snape doesn't know how good he's got it. He'll push too far one of these days, and he'll lose everything. I thought I told you to stay out of Knockturn Alley."

"I don't take orders very well," she said defiantly. Never mind that she could have simply told him that she hadn't known this was Knockturn Alley.

"It wasn't an order," Harry said, sounding strained. "Do you realize what could have happened to you here? What if it wasn't Snape you ran into, but someone who didn't care about breaking the law? A lot worse could have happened than a pain curse."

She shot a sidelong glance at him. "Were you worried about me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said simply. A smile began to pull at her lips, but faded when he spoke next. "A good friend of mine was murdered here. I won't let that happen again to someone I know."

His gaze was so serious that she felt ashamed. "Sorry," she said grudgingly. "I'll try to listen next time."

He watched her for several more seconds as if testing the strength of her promise, then nodded. "Let's get back to Hogwarts," he said. "I've got quidditch practice in an hour."

"Quidditch?" she asked, fumbling with the strange word.

He smiled, just a little, and she knew that all was forgiven. "Oh, you're going to _love_ quidditch," he told her, and refused to say more.


End file.
